Betsy and the breakdown
by evilgiraffe82
Summary: Jasper's car breaks down, and a stranger stops to help. Written for Slash Backslash 2.0.


**SLASH BACKSLASH ONE-SHOT CONTEST**

**Story Name:** Betsy and the breakdown**  
Pen name:** evilgiraffe82**  
Pairing:** Jasper and Emmett**  
Disclaimer:** All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

**To see other entries in the "SLASH BACKSLASH" contest, please visit the C2: www dot fanfiction dot net/c2/68069/3/0/1/**

With thanks to the TSA (you know who you are) for being your fabulous and encouraging sleves. Special thanks to NeverPush, BrokenDawn, and TeamEdward for taking up the beta challenge.

* * *

"Dammit," I think as I feel Betsy shudder. I turn on the hazard lights and pull over on to the hard shoulder just as her engine coughs once and dies. I look at Edward's anxious face and wait for the panic.

"What's happened? Have we run out of petrol?"

"No, Eddy-boy, we have plenty of petrol. Our big problem is the weather; Betsy has never really _done_ rain."

It's laughable, really, driving a forty year old Morris Traveller down the M4 in the pouring rain. Damn fool idea. Even with this mishap it's better than letting Edward drive, though. We'd probably still be at home with him going through all the pre-flight checks on his super-reliable, super-safe, super-_boring_ brand new Volvo. I asked him once what was wrong with keeping a car for more than a couple of years, and he gave me the lecture of my life. "Safety features in cars are being improved every day," he'd said. "I feel it's my duty to keep the safest car I can, I would be horrified if someone got hurt because of my negligence in keeping a substandard vehicle. Doing anything else is is just plain irresponsible, Jasper; irresponsible and dangerous." He's always so earnest I can't help but smile. If it were anyone else I'd have started up the private versus public transport debate, but the scary thing is that Eddy-boy is only one small step away from going everywhere on bikes and buses, and I like having his car there for emergencies. Like when Betsy breaks down. Like now. Fuck.

I climb out of the car and open the bonnet. I find myself poking at various bits of the engine as if I've got any idea what any of it does. It's not the best idea, I suppose, buying a car like this when I have no interest in or knowledge about the mystical workings of the internal combustion engine. Still, Betsy has character (which is more than can be said for the Vapid Volvo) and is lots of fun to drive, and she draws nice comments from complete strangers now and again too. It can be embarrassing if they're Morris fans, as people always expect me to know more than I do. Thankfully Edward knows I'm just showing willing and am not even remotely capable of fixing anything. He gets out his 'emergency kit' and dresses up in so much hi-viz he's almost fluorescing. He's even got special weights to stop the warning triangle blowing away. He trots off down the road with the triangle and secures it with about half a ton of lead, it seems. When he returns I've shut the bonnet and have retreated back into the car out of the rain. He looks at me with that part-exasperated, part-indulgent, part-excited expression that means he's going to take over and let me just sit here and wait for everything to work again. I used to try to do things my way, but have found that it's a lot easier to just let Edward take control sometimes. He loves a crisis; it means all his worst-case scenario planning can come in useful for once.

He clambers in through the rear door and starts rifling through the emergency kit again.

"I'll walk back down the road a bit, I saw an emergency phone a couple of miles back," he says.

"Okay, sounds good. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, you should stay with the car, you never know what might happen to it if we leave it alone."

Yeah, right. Like anyone's going to stop in this weather to check out a broken-down Morris Traveller. Pointing this out, however, might mean he changes his mind and then I'll have to accompany Edward out in all the rain. I shut up and make myself comfortable. Edward pulls the hood of his hi-viz coat up, puts his gloves on and tucks his tweeds into his socks. He looks like a country gentleman with the tweed and the socks; I suppose I should be grateful that they're not mustard cords. After he's finally ready he would be capable of climbing Everest, so I think tackling a mile or so of wet tarmac shouldn't be a problem. Before he goes he throws me a small package from his emergency kit.

"Don't eat it all at once, it might have to last us for weeks if this thing is unrepairable," he says with a wink, then shuts the door and trudges off.

I watch him in the rear-view mirror as he walks away, then look down at the package. It seems that Edward has more of a sense of humour than I have previously suspected. He's given me a slab of Kendal Mint Cake. I chuckle and look fondly up at the mirror again. Edward is a bright yellow dot receding into the distance.

I fiddle with the radio for a while and turn it off when the best I can do is some godawful local radio station. You'd think the M4 would count as civilisation and therefore be able to pick up the national BBC channels even in this weather, but apparently not. I resort to staring out of the window, watching the occasional car streak past. There's not even enough traffic to keep me entertained; rainy Sundays at six AM do not entice many people to travel, it seems. A big black Land Rover comes haring down the middle lane. I can feel Betsy rock in the wind as it passes. The next lights approaching are in the inside lane, and as they come closer I can see they belong to a beat-up looking red pickup truck. It slows right down as it passes Edward's warning triangle, then signals left and pulls in a few yards ahead of me. I sit up straighter, wondering if now would be a good time to run away. I reach for the ignition and turn the key. Still nothing. I'll have to sit tight and hope for the best. The reverse lights on the pickup come on and I watch it come closer, the white letters of "TOYOTA" looming larger and larger. It stops about six feet from Betsy's front bumper and all the lights go out. I see the driver's door open and a vision in jeans and a lumberjack shirt gets out and jogs over, seemingly unmindful of the rain. He knocks on the passenger door and I lean over and open it.

"Cheers," he says, settling in to the passenger seat. "I guess you've broken down?"

I can't respond. I'm too busy gawking at him. When he was outside I hadn't noticed just how big this guy was, but crammed into Betsy it's inescapable. His knees are almost touching the dashboard even though the seat is as far back as it will go because Edward is paranoid that his legs would be crushed if we ever had an accident. I've told him that for that to happen we'd have to actually catch up with something; it's far more likely for something to rear-end us, so he may be protecting his legs but his back is doomed. That earned me a steely glare and an offer to be driven everywhere by Edward. My eyes move from the man's knees and trail up over his thighs and chest until I meet his eyes and realise with a start that he's waiting for me to reply.

"Er, yes. Sorry." I grin at him inanely and pray my face doesn't look as red as it feels.

"I used to have one of these," he says, patting the dashboard. "I loved her, but she just kept on breaking down. Now my little Rosie's in the big scrapyard in the sky, I suppose. I did get pretty good at roadside repairs while I had her, though – want me to take a look?"

"Would you? That would be fantastic, my friend's gone to use the emergency phone, but it could be ages before someone gets here, especially on a Sunday."

"No problem."

I watch the massive body unfold as he clambers out of the car. He manoeuvres one foot out of the door and twists his body round away from me. I can see the muscles of his back moving under his damp shirt and I struggle to stop myself reaching out to feel them. As he leans forward and pushes himself on to his feet I can see his thighs tense and relax. My heart is racing. I am surprised at myself; I've never reacted like this to anyone before. Edward was a bright sparkle years ago, but that liaison died almost as it had begun. I love him dearly, but we both know it is probably only going to be friendship between us now, nothing more. This man, though, this man has got me almost gasping with lust in under five minutes. Suddenly I can't stand the distance any longer, and hop out of Betsy and walk over to the stranger in a few quick strides. He is crouched in the pickup, unfastening a giant toolbox from its securing straps. He heaves it over towards where I'm standing, and I look up at him, mesmerised. I reach out to take the toolbox for him and he grins at me.

"Don't worry about it, it's pretty heavy."

I can see how heavy it is as he lifts it up and his body takes the strain. The muscles in his arms are obvious under the shirt that is getting wetter by the minute. We walk over to Betsy and I open the bonnet again. He leans in and starts tinkering with things as I watch his body moving. His fingers are gentle and delicate as he reaches for tools and adjusts various bits of engine. He calls me over to look at what he thinks the problem is and I duck under the bonnet with him. It feels very intimate with our heads close together, sheltered from the rain. He talks about the car and I nod as if I understand, watching him speak rather than hearing him. His lips are full, soft and mobile as he describes what he's done. As he talks his eyes dance with enthusiasm. He suggests I try starting her up to see if she's back to normal. I move to go around behind him, and he steps back to let me pass in front, and so we collide in a flurry of apologies and sharp intakes of breath. I go around in front of him, sliding along Betsy's bumper but still my left arm grazes past his chest. He doesn't move, doesn't give me more space. I glance up at him and his eyes are dark as he watches me. I get behind the wheel and turn the key in the ignition. The engine starts smoothly and a grin breaks out on my face. I turn her off again and see his answering grin. He reaches into the toolbox for a packet of wipes, and cleans his hands before he holds one out to help me out of the car. I take hold and feel the warm, rough skin of his fingers close around my hand. He pulls me up and as I stand chest to chest with him he holds on for a moment longer than is strictly necessary. He lets go of my hand and neither of us move away.

A car goes by, and the noise and the proximity wake us up to how dangerous it is to stand at the side of the motorway like this. I shut the car door and he carries the toolbox back to the pickup. He shoves it hard into the bed of the truck, then puts his hands on the tailgate and in one fluid move he springs up to put his left foot between his hands. For a brief moment his right leg is dangling, and I can see the inside seam of his jeans all the way up from his ankle to his crotch. He scrambles forward, pushing and scraping the toolbox back to its security straps. I move forward with him as if pulled by invisible strings tying me to him and stand at the tailgate watching his quick, sure hands pulling at the straps. As he reaches to fasten it down he looks around.

I meet his gaze and there is a glow in his dark eyes as he looks back at me. Even though the rain is still hammering down it feels like we're alone in a pool of silence. He abandons the toolbox, straightens up, walks over, and sits down on the tailgate. I step forward as if in a dream, his arms go around me and I feel his warm chest against mine. My hands slide around him and press against the strong, hard muscle of his back. I look up and he looks down and for a heartbeat we just stare at each other. Then his mouth is on mine and we're sucking, licking, gasping and I push against his tongue with mine, and he pulls me closer to him. I feel his thighs gripping my hips and his hands press into my back and my shoulder blades. I groan and push my body as close to his as I can, pulling him into me with my arms around him. I can feel his hardness against me and I grind against it and hear him breathe in quickly, followed by a growl in my ear that sends anticipatory shivers down my spine. He scoots backwards into the truck and pulls me with him. I'm kneeling in the bed of the truck with my hands on either side of his chest. I fumble with his shirt buttons, catching glimpses of smooth muscle and coarse hair until finally I can see the whole expanse of his chest heaving under me. I sit back on my heels and just look at him. He grins at me, sits up and takes my hand. He kisses each finger in turn, gentle teeth nibbling at my wrist and rough fingers softly stroking my forearm. I can feel myself throbbing and moan under my breath. He pulls my T-shirt over my head and the feel of his warm hands on my skin is a shock. I can feel the rain stinging my shoulders, running down my back and my chest. He kisses his way up my arm, along my collarbone, and sucks the rainwater off my nipples. I arch my back and take a deep, shaky breath as I feel his soft, warm mouth close over my skin and his tongue teases my nipples. He runs his fingers under the waistband of my jeans just as I reach out and do the same to him. We mirror each other's movements. We undo belt buckles and button flies, pull jeans and pants down. I take hold of his straining cock and he mine. We stroke and grip and stroke and squeeze and stroke. I feel bereft as he removes one hand and reaches for the toolbox. My eyes widen. The only lubricant I can think of that belongs in a toolbox is WD40, which is surely a bad idea. He pulls out a pot of Vaseline which is grimy with engine dirt.

He looks at me with enquiry in his eyes, asking if it's alright to continue with this dirty tub usually used for mysterious mechanical purposes. I think fleetingly of the KY in my bag, but the bag is in the car, and Betsy seems a very long way away. I nod at him and he puts the pot down, fishing around in his jeans pockets before finally producing a condom. I reach out and take it from him, ripping the packet open and roll the condom over him, feeling the slippery surface sliding under my fingers and hearing his ragged breathing as he watches my hands moving over him. He takes the lid off the pot of Vaseline. He scoops some out; smears it around while I shift position and rest my arms on the toolbox. I feel his legs between my knees, all hard muscle and hair and warmth; then he's easing into me slowly, slowly, going deeper and deeper and deeper. He pulls out so gently it's almost torture. He does it again, and again. The deliberate pace is intense, I can feel everything he does so clearly, every tiny movement of his hands on my hips and his legs between mine. I can feel his calves tense when he pushes in and his hands tighten as he pulls out. His cock inside me is huge and I revel in the feeling. My own cock is harder than ever, straining forward and alone, so alone. I'm leaning on the toolbox and can't free a hand to help myself. There's so much sensation and yet so little, all at the same time. He eases out one last time and then suddenly he's inside me in one swift push. I gasp with surprise and pleasure, brace myself on the toolbox and push back hard as he pushes forward and reaches around and at last there's more stroking, gripping, stroking, squeezing. We go faster and faster and faster and there's nothing in the world except me and this man. I can feel his breathing change as mine does, and again we mirror each other, moaning and groaning and coming hard and fast and gasping for air.

I lean my head on my arms and try to breathe normally. His weight on me is tremendous as he relaxes on to my back and rests his head on my shoulder. After we get our breath back I start to shake with the effort of holding him up. He kisses the back of my neck and moves away, pulling off the condom and cleaning himself up with the wipes from the toolbox. The removal of his warmth is a shock, and I am aware once again of the rain. I start to shiver, and see that he is in much the same situation.

"Come on," I say, hitching my jeans back up, grabbing my shirt and running back to Betsy. He's hot on my heels and we tumble in through the rear door, shoving bags out of the way and slamming the door. I find Edward's old blanket (always prepared for an emergency, remember?) and throw it over us both. We cling together and slowly the shivering stops. We warm up quickly then, and the change in temperature coupled with the post-orgasmic haze makes me relax into his side and close my eyes.

I wake with a start, not having meant to fall asleep. The stranger has mirrored my actions once again and is sleeping with one arm over me. I reach out and rest my hand on his cheek. His dark stubble is rough under my palm. I trail my fingers down his jaw and throat, over his collarbone and through the dark hair on his chest. I make a detour around his nipples and he twitches in his sleep, shifting his legs around and I can see he's hard again. My hand carries on down, down to his feet and then back up the inside of his thigh, running up the seam of his jeans that I was looking at when he climbed into his truck. He's still asleep, but I can see from his face that he is enjoying himself. I undo his jeans again, and find he'd only done the top one up as we ran to Betsy in the rain. I run my thumb around his balls through the soft material of his pants, pondering my next move. Inspiration strikes. I carry on gently teasing with one hand and use the other to grope around for the package Edward left me. I find it, grin to myself, and get back to work with more attention. I pull his pants down as far as I can and stroke his cock up, up, up, round the tip and then down, down, down. I move around and start kissing and licking and nipping at the inside of his thighs, just below his balls. He whimpers and his hips grind a little, shifting his cock in my hands.

I can take a hint. I lick my way up from the base of his cock to the tip, feeling it twitch at the sensation. He tastes slightly of plastic, and the thought of the sex we had earlier makes me moan. I roll my tongue around the head, pressing and flicking and breathing in to suck the air over him. I reach out, break off a chunk of the mint cake, look up. He's looking at me. I break off a second chunk; put one in his mouth and one in mine. His eyes widen slightly as he realises my intention, then a wicked look comes into his them and he moves around so he can reach my cock while I carry on with his. His hands tug at my jeans and my pants and I abandon him while I struggle out of them in the close confines of the car. Finally I'm free and his rough fingers close around me and slide around in my own wetness. The first touch of his minty, tingly mouth around the head of my desperate cock is like nothing on earth. I suck in a sharp breath and feel his hips jerk as the air moves over the mint-sensitive skin. We suck and lick and push and I feel his hands on my balls and my buttocks and my back. I can feel us both getting closer, closer and I look up and see Edward looking in through the window. The shock as I meet his eyes is incredible, and then I realise he's got one hand inside those oh-so-perfect tweed trousers and he's right there with us. I keep the eye contact with Edward until we all three arrive at once and I feel the stranger come in my mouth as I do in his and I see rather than hear Edward's shout of pleasure. We untangle ourselves, Edward opens the passenger door and climbs in. He gives me an enquiring look, and I turn to the stranger.

"This is Edward," I say. "Edward, this is..." I stop, realising I've hardly spoken to the man, and certainly don't know his name.

"Emmett," he says. "My name is Emmett."


End file.
